Over the years I’ve taken numerous (mostly weak) stabs at being a blogger. Usually faltering after a less than half a dozen entries. I’ve asked myself “Why bother? Why not put your efforts somewhere that’ll have more of an impact?” While I always have a stack of things to do and never enough time to do them all, adding the tasks of writing and maintaining a blog keeps resurfacing in my brain.
The need to do so seems to stem from a desire to, not have my voice heard per se, but to have my thoughts and words clearly elucidated both for myself and for anyone who cares to read. I have no desire to engage in the sort of manic self publicity that seem to be so common in the world today. I don’t want to be famous nor establish myself as an authority on any particular subject. While I’ve had a lot of experiences in my life the ever present “Imposter Imp” sits in the back of my brain and whispers that I don’t know nearly as much as I think I do and if I try to speak with authority on something I’ll get called out on it.
In some ways It seems like the reasons for doing this is an odd kind of personal therapy. But thats not the whole reason either. There is some kind of complex internal alchemy that is driving me to resume the Sisyphean task of publishing my life’s experience. Rolling this stone up the hill one more time in the hopes that I’ll finally discover why I need to do it.
